


If Men Had Mens

by intrikeyt



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M, Menstruation, Pointless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intrikeyt/pseuds/intrikeyt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one thing Carlos expected to escape by being in a relationship with a man, it was all the "that time of the month" drama. But since when has Night Vale ever conformed to Carlos's expectations?</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Men Had Mens

**Author's Note:**

> I did a thing.
> 
> I was looking up Irritable Male Syndrome for a friend while browsing the #IfMenHadMens trending topic on Twitter and then this happened. Please don't kill me.

Dinner on Friday nights has become something of a ritual for Carlos and Cecil. It's a nice way to end the week, and one of the few really normal things that Carlos can count on in Night Vale. Pasta. Coffee. Occasionally, shy hand-holding under the table. 

True, the menu contains some rather unusual items (not now nor ever does Carlos desire to know what an Andorian grubworm sandwich is), but at least nobody is spontaneously sprouting extra toes or going into sudden trances and chanting, **"ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD."**

Cecil is never late to these little dinners. It's always Carlos who sometimes rushes in five or ten minutes later, slightly out of breath, with Cecil's favorite bloodgrape yogurt from Pinkberry in hand as an apology. So Carlos is more than a little worried when he's been seated at their usual booth for a while, and Cecil has yet to show.

"Madeline, are you sure Cecil hasn't come in yet?" Carlos asks their waitress. 

"No, I'm sorry Mr. Scientist," she says. "I haven't seen him all day." She worriedly bites her lip, and Carlos spares a thought to one day ask her how it is she does that without slicing her lips to ribbons, since her mouth is lined with two rows of tiny, sharp fangs. "He doesn't normally miss your Friday night dinner date, does he?" 

"No, he doesn't." Carlos glances outside once more, hoping to see Cecil's car pull into the parking lot. No such luck. "I think I'd better go check on him." He pays for his uneaten meal, thanks Madeline, and leaves. Thankfully, this little café has doors, so there is no need to smash the window.

Usually there is a cacophony of noise drifting out of the windows of Cecil's house (helpfully flung wide open for the Sherriff's Secret Police); the TV playing reruns of Game of Thrones, Cecil chitchatting with the Faceless Old Woman, or short bursts of music indicative of Cecil choosing a song to play on his show's weather section. When Carlos pulls up at the curb, however, the house is quiet. This is not particularly reassuring.

"Cecil?" Carlos calls out, knocking on the door. "Cecil, it's Carlos. Are you in there?"

A sharp tapping on the front window answers him. He turns to look and finds a ghostly, foggy handprint on the glass, and underneath the word 'help'. A few months earlier, Carlos would have freaked out and rushed into the house to save Cecil from what he was sure was some malevolent apparition (after wondering how condensation was possible in such a dry, hot environment, of course). But now, he knows the Faceless Old Woman is just trying to get his attention. This adds greatly to his worry. He knows Cecil gets on quite well with the Faceless Old Woman in his house (Carlos has not met his, nor does he plan to), but she doesn't generally directly communicate with other people, much preferring to exist as a creepy apparition in the periphery of their vision. For her to so blatantly call attention to herself…

He retrieves the spare key and lets himself in.

The first thing he notices is that it's dark, and it smells like a horrible mixture of camphor and overcooked cabbage. Then, he sees the long, slim figure slumped on the couch, huddled under a blanket and whimpering in pain.

"Cecil!" Carlos rushes over and pitches to his knees, hand going to Cecil's forehead to feel for a temperature. He touches Cecil's shoulder and gently shakes him. "Cecil? Can you wake up for a minute baby?" The pet name slips out easily. They haven't said anything to each other about pet names, satisfied for now with just 'Cecil' and 'Carlos', but today the comparison is quite apt. Cecil is wrapped up in a blanket, eyes squeezed shut, a grimace of pain marring his features. Carlos feels a powerful surge of emotion he can't quite name, something between _let me take care of you_ and _I love you so much._

"Carlos?" Cecil weakly murmurs, his eyes fluttering open, hazy and unfocused. They suddenly widen with realization and a mournful expression crosses his face. "Oh, Carlos! Oh _no_ , I am _so_ sorry. Dinner completely slipped my mind. It's just--"

"Forget about dinner," Carlos says roughly, struck for just a moment with the realization that Cecil's first thought, sick as he is, was for Carlos. "Why didn't you call me? Look at you, you look awful."

"I didn't want to bother you," says Cecil. "I thought you'd be at the lab. I know your work is important."

Carlos resists the urge to punch himself in the face. "Not as important as you," he says firmly. "Come on baby, don't I always show up to our dinner dates?"

Cecil raises an eyebrow, and Carlos smiles. "Well, granted, I may not always be on time," he amends. "I'm very aware of this now, thanks to your listeners."

"I'm very beloved by my audience," Cecil teases. "They want to make sure you'll take care of me."

"I plan to." Carlos slips his arms under Cecil's body and, remembering to lift with his knees, carefully scoops Cecil up into his arms. He grunts and staggers a bit--Cecil is fairly skinny, but gangly and a bit difficult to maneuver--but eventually manages to carry Cecil to the bedroom, ignoring his protests all the while.

"Really, Carlos, you didn't have to carry me," Cecil whines, as Carlos gently deposits him on the bed. "I know I'm heavy, and--"

"Relax, baby, I--" Carlos pauses as he notices, for the first time, the dark stain on Cecil's boxers, which has spread to the sleeve of his lab coat. " _You're bleeding._ "

"What?" Cecil glances down at himself. "Aw, shit," Cecil says, with feeling, which surprises Carlos a bit because, other than calling the Apache Tracker and Steve Carlsberg rude names, Cecil generally doesn't indulge in profanity. "Give me a minute," he adds, gingerly getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom. He keeps a hand on his belly and he moves awkwardly, almost as if he was trying not to dislodge something inside of him.

Carlos stares, baffled, as Cecil slams the bathroom door shut. There is the muffled sound of paper ripping, a couple minutes of silence, then the toilet flushes and then Cecil steps out, dressed in new boxers and nothing else.

"I'm sorry about your jacket," Cecil mutters as he slides back into bed, doing his best not to look at Carlos. A flush has climbed up the back of his neck, all the way to his ears. "Just leave it here. I'll wash it for you. Thanks for looking in on me." He pulls the blankets up to his chin and turns away.

The complete change in his Cecil’s mood baffles Carlos, but not for long. A slow, sneaking suspicion takes grip of his mind. The greater portion of it, the one that has spent several years studying human biology, is screaming, _This is impossible._ But a smaller segment, one that has resigned itself to Night Vale's innate weirdness, is gently patting the scientific hindbrain's metaphorical shoulders in a motherly way and going, _That's okay, take all the time you need to adjust._

Either way, Carlos is having none of Cecil's reticence. "Cecil, baby. Look at me."

Cecil resolutely does not.

"Cecil."

More silence.

Carlos is not deterred. He takes off his lab coat and folds it over a chair. Then, slowly, he climbs into bed next to Cecil, ignoring the way the other man stiffens and begins to pull away.

"Don't do this to me, baby," he whispers into Cecil's ear, locking an arm around his waist and gently tugging him closer. "Come on, can't you tell how worried I am about you? Let me help you. Please?"

Finally, Cecil relents and he turns to face Carlos. He looks tired and wan, almost like he wants to cry. "It hurts," he whines plaintively.

Carlos's suspicions are confirmed. "I know, baby, I know," he soothes. "I'm going to get you something for the pain, okay? Do you think you'll be all right for a few minutes?" He strokes Cecil's face, tenderly, lovingly. "I promise I'll come back."

Cecil nods. "Okay," he says faintly.

Carlos leaves the bedroom and goes out to his car, where he keeps a small first aid kit under the front seat. He retrieves this and goes back into the house, heading for the kitchen. Here he finds the source of the camphor and overcooked cabbage smell he noted earlier--there is a pot on the stove filled with limp boiled greens and what appear to be the entire contents of a jar of Vicks VapoRub. Carlos wrinkles his nose, dumps the whole mess in the wastebasket, and tosses the pot into the kitchen.

"What on earth was he trying to make?" he mutters, half to himself, half to the Faceless Old Woman in hopes that she'll answer him.

A faint voice whispers in his ear, " _Old Woman Josie's homemade remedy for menstrual cramps…_ " The whisper drifts off and, despite the utter banality of the words, Carlos's hair stands on end.

He can't help it. Even as nice as it is that there's someone looking out for Cecil when Carlos isn't around, the Faceless Old Woman is still just plain old creepy.

"What was he supposed to do with that gunk? Eat it?" Carlos says, disgusted. But the Faceless Old Woman, apparently assured that Cecil was in good hands, does not reply. 

Carlos spends a busy ten minutes in the kitchen, and reenters the bedroom carrying a tray laden with a hot water bottle, a glass of water, ibuprofen, and a bowl of soup. Cecil is still huddled under the covers, a miserable lump in the great big bed that makes Carlos's heart ache.

"Cecil, baby?" he murmurs, setting the tray down on the nightstand. "Can you sit up for a bit? I have something that'll make you feel better." He helps Cecil into a sitting position and offers him the ibuprofen and the water, which Cecil obediently drinks. Then, carefully, so as not to spill a single drop, Carlos picks up the bowl of soup. “Do you want me to feed you?” he asks, only half-teasingly.

To his slight horror, Cecil’s eyes begin to water. “You cooked for _me_?” he asks wonderingly

Carlos puts away the soup and reaches out to brush away Cecil’s tears. “Please don’t cry,” he says awkwardly. He does not have much experience dealing with hormones and mood swings, but for Cecil, he’ll make the effort. “It’s tomato soup from a can,” he adds apologetically. “I wanted something easy to make so you wouldn’t have to wait so long--”

“Oh, Carlos.” Cecil looks completely overcome with emotion. “I don’t deserve you.”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “If anything,” he says, taking up the soup again, “ _I_ don’t deserve _you._ You’re always so good to me, always putting me first.” He dips the spoon into the bowl and holds it up to Cecil’s lips. “Let me take care of you,” he repeats.

Cecil obligingly allows Carlos to feed him the soup.

When the bowl is empty, Carlos puts all the crockery away, then strips down to his boxers and climbs into bed, the hot water bottle in hand. “Lean against me,” he instructs Cecil, positioning himself so his back is propped up against the pillows and the headboard. Cecil delightedly obeys, tilting his head back so it rests in the curve between Carlos’s neck and shoulder. Carlos lightly drops a kiss on Cecil’s temple as he places the hot water bottle just right on Cecil’s stomach, and pulls the thick comforter over their bodies.

They end up falling asleep.

Later on, Carlos will inquire after the biology that allows the males of Night Vale to menstruate bi-annually, and the logistics and anatomical mechanics of the whole affair. Later on, Cecil will act shocked that, everywhere else in the world, only females menstruate, and explain politely, albeit with the air of one giving a child the birds and the bees talk, that it hardly seemed fair to women to have them carry the burden of childbearing all the time, wasn’t it? Later the Faceless Old Woman in Cecil’s house will tell the Faceless Old Woman in Old Woman Josie’s house that Vicks and boiled leafy vegetables did not work at all, Old Woman Josie must have gotten her remedies mixed up, and good thing that nice scientist was there to help and didn’t run away screaming the way the Faceless Old Woman in Cecil’s house was sure he would when she tried to get his attention.

But all that happens later. Right now, Carlos and Cecil merely sleep, warm and safe and cocooned, the pain kept at bay by Carlos’s warm compress, warm hands, and even warmer heart.

 


End file.
